And The Days Drag On
by goddessofpainandagony
Summary: Merlin begins to look at his magic differently in Camelot, and the more he thinks the less he likes it. The secret weighs heavy on his shoulders, but even heavier weighs the regret of his actions as Merlin becomes a person he never imagined he could be.


Merlin didn't begin to fear his magic until he came to Camelot. In Ealdor, he had never been made to feel endangered because of it. He wasn't wholly accepted-there are always those unable to accept what is different from themselves. He still had some friends. He had Will. And Merlin had chosen to believe that, if it weren't for his magic, the boys in his village would find something else to hassle him over. The fact he was a bastard, his gangly limbs and freckled face, his utter inability to walk a straight line across a flat surface without tripping over his own feet.

Well, needless to say there was a lot to hate about Merlin. Magic wasn't the only reason he was targeted, and no one in Ealdor had ever, say, thought to behead him over it. Which is why it was such a shock when he arrived in Camelot to the beheading of a sorcerer. And despite himself, Merlin began to fear. Not his magic, not at first, but it had fast occurred to him that if he was discovered for the warlock he was there would be no mercy given.

He hadn't intended to rely on magic as much as he did. He had used it in Ealdor to ease his work and help his mother, who had too many responsibilities for a single woman to handle. He hadn't expected there to be so much work in Camelot. He had expected to help Gaius, and even earn some free time of his own. Instead, he ended up manservant to the Prince and trapped in a destiny that proved much more difficult than it had any right to be. Most days, Merlin wondered how Arthur managed to survive long enough to meet him.

So somehow Merlin ended up with more chores than he could handle if he had nothing else in the world to do, and also saddled with protecting the life of the most oblivious and arrogant Prince to ever live. He was using magic for more than saving a falling pot from breaking or speeding up the washing. He was using it to defeat powerful sorcerers and, sure, maybe he used it to complete the occasional chore. Every day.

Before using it to defend Arthur's life, Merlin had never considered the strength of his own magic. He had used magic almost without thought. If he knocked something over, his magic caught it before it fell to the floor. If he wanted light in the middle of the night, all he had to do was look at the candle and he would have it. He used magic as carelessly and naturally as he used his own hands, and back in an outlying village he had no cause to use his hands for murder.

He had regarded the taking of a life as something far above his own abilities. Merlin was just a boy from Ealdor, there was no call for fighting and all the hardships that would entail. And the hardships, when they came, were plentiful. But the part he expected to be hardest, the taking of a life, was insultingly easy. Merlin, it seemed, was powerful enough to kill with ease. The first time he did so, the moment he crushed that poor mourning mother to her death, he began to truly _fear._

He feared more than Uther, more than discovery and funeral pyres and blood dripping thick off the Executioner's blade. More than the look on Arthur's face when he eventually realized what exactly was that _something about Merlin._ He feared the power coursing through his very veins. Because what if Uther was right? What if magic always twisted to evil, no matter what it had started as? Merlin had never wanted to kill anyone, had never dreamed of using his magic to hurt.

But Gaius told him not to fear. And Merlin trusted him, believed him when he said Merlin was not a monster for the curse he was born with and that, if Arthur's life was threatened, Merlin would do what he must. Maybe there was no evil here after all. Merlin, unused to the life of noble and great conquests, was too damn emotional for his own good. He sympathized with those who did not deserve his pity. Thinking this helped, focusing on the evil deeds rather than the corpses left behind hardened his resolve. The fear, however, remained.

Now Merlin knew what he could do. Merlin was not yet the most powerful warlock, but he did have power. Power he had never wanted and a destiny he might never fulfill. Merlin feared less what he had done with his power and more what he would do. He feared the day he would use his power for something he could not justify to himself, something that would be true evil as Uther had always foretold.

The days spent with Mordred, struggling with himself whether to sentence a child to an undeserved death or defy the dragon's solemn warning, sharpened that fear. There was once a time Merlin would never have believed the future to be set in stone, impossible to affect or shape. There was once a time Merlin would never have thought about leaving a Druid boy to death at the hands of an unjust tyrant. The whole event sickened Merlin, but nothing more than the fact it took the child begging for his life to sway his decision.

Merlin didn't begin to hate his magic until some time later, after all else had fallen. He had failed protecting Arthur when he was needed, and he watched his Prince-his _friend_-fall into a mortal illness. He traveled to the Isle of the Blessed and gladly traded his own life for Arthur's, as he always would. And, once again afraid, he waited for death to take him.

Instead, it came for his mother.

Instead, it came for Gaius.

He'd like to say he knew it would save the lives of those he loved when he called on the Old Religion-he didn't. He thought Gaius was dead already, and the only thought he had through the pain of a burning chest was of Nimueh. And, in anger he had never felt before, Merlin called for her death. And it was granted. He was given Gaius and returned to a healthy, worried mother and a very much alive Prince Arthur.

It should have been a victory. Merlin came through a hopeless bargain, life for a life for another, with all the people he wanted. All it had taken was one more killing of another villain threatening his destiny with Arthur. And maybe it had been justified killing, but it didn't feel that way to Merlin when he thought back to it and all he could remember was rage. There had been no plan and no thought for Arthur's safety, or that of his mother, or even Gaius who lay there limp and looking dead.

Merlin was angry, and Nimueh was the one to answer for it. He used powerful magic, more powerful than anything he had used in protecting Arthur's life, and he used it for his own selfish reasons. Out of hatred for the woman manipulating him, hurting him and hurting those he loved. He _hated _Nimueh, and in that moment he had wanted nothing else than to see her dead.

And after he'd done it, that hatred shifted inwards. He hated the power that allowed him to commit such a terrible act. He hated the lack of control when he most needed it. He hated that there was no punishment forthcoming, that he may never pay for the murder of Nimueh. He hated that he continued to use his magic, would undoubtably murder others if the last months were any indication (because Arthur somehow manages to find himself in impossible situations, and only Merlin can and will do the impossible for the young Prince).

Most of all, Merlin hated that he would do it all again to keep his people by his side, safe and within his _power_ to protect.

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**A/N**

**So, I'm about as late to this fandom as I can be but I started watching _Merlin _last Friday and now I'm in the middle of season 2. And then I went to the fanfiction, and now my plot bunnies are scheming constantly and distracting me from my work. So here's the first of what will eventually be many _Merlin _fics. Any criticism or corrections are welcome, as well as any requests. I doubt there are any, but I'm not sure how active this fandom still is, so I'll at least put out the offer. I'm just excited to write some intense Merlin angst.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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